I saw kiss to tell already some time ago. The rudimentary notes I took at the time didn’t allow for a detailed reconstruction of the performative actions. But that’s not what it’s about anyway. When I think about the performance today, what first comes to mind are the sounds made by kissing lips. That’s because a large part of kiss to tell consists of a sequence in which Kotowski places kisses on various-sized mirrors scattered around the stage – slowly at first, then more and more dynamically and aggressively. Initially, the performer kisses the external side of the mirrors, as if he wanted to hide behind the objects which reflect the audience. Then, however, he turns the looking glasses towards himself.
The soundscape of the performance that these gestures produce is simultaneously unsettling, fascinating and irritating. I felt relieved during those short intervals when Kotowski put away one mirror but before he reached for another.
As a matter of fact, in kiss to tell, the kiss itself didn’t seem like a romantic gesture. Rather, Kotowski was interested in scrutinising the relationships of power, domination and submission as well as in probing the subjects of loneliness, desire and the attitude to one’s own body. The artist communicates with the audience through the choreography of the kisses and the sounds they make, on one hand, and through the sign language on the other. As a result, we’re dealing with a multi-level transmission of codes and signs.
Initially, the artist wears something that resembles a greenish duvet, in which one can easily hide and disappear. Later, he casts off consecutive layers of the down material and with them – it seems – those of shame. The desire with which his lips meet their reflections in the mirrors keeps growing. Kotowski crawls on the floor, tenderly embracing and caressing himself. More and more strongly, intensely and with skyrocketing confidence. No longer does he base his own self-worth or sense of attractiveness on what’s outside; rather, he moves the vector inside, directing it towards himself.
Weronika Szymańska-Gątarek appears alongside Kotowski on the stage. She is an interpreter who alternatively translates his actions into sign language or says aloud what he signs. She’s, at the same time, a mirror for the performer’s actions, and an object of his desires, one he tries to come close to. The dynamics of their relationship, or, more precisely, their manner of communicating and then interpreting remains patchy. Not all of the actions and signs were interpreted. Some of them we figured out from context, but we were still left with a sense of confusion and alienation – a rare experience for most of us living in a world tailor-made for normativity.
At the end, we were informed that Kotowski would tell us a story if someone kissed him. For a while, we wait, suspended, afraid to transgress the boundaries of the performance. Finally, however, one of the viewers decides to go on stage. Momentarily, the artist stands up and bows; the audience gives a round of applause. No story is told. Or is it?